


Peanut Butter

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Fluff, Food, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren is sitting cross-legged on the kitchen island, hair a disaster and glasses balancing on the tip of his nose, and eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peanut Butter

The light is dim when Chris blinks open his eyes. For a second, he wonders if maybe it’s raining, before he realizes that it’s just  _really_  fucking early. He groans into his pillow, rubbing his head into the fabric, before turning over to wrap himself around Darren again and fall asleep.

But the bed is empty.

Chris knows he could just go back to sleep—Darren is probably in the bathroom or something. He’s probably the last person in the world who would sneak out on spooning, which makes the cold, gaping space next to Chris all the more interesting. He doesn’t want to get up, but he does, grumbling to himself and yawning as he fumbles around on the floor for a sweatshirt. It’s cold, and he’s tired, and he’s going to drag Darren back to bed no matter what he’s doing.

Being at Darren’s place rather than his own is still new, but it’s new for both of them. It was something they couldn’t do before, but Darren doesn’t have roommates now. It’s just him, and, if he wasn’t working so often, Chris would wonder how he doesn’t get lonely. If he wasn’t working so often, Chris would probably suggest that Darren get a dog or something.

He stumbles along the hallways and down stairs that he’s not familiar with yet, palm braced against the wall as he goes, when he sees warm, yellow light coming from the kitchen. He doesn’t hear the expected strum of a guitar, or soft, quiet singing. He doesn’t hear early morning cartoon reruns. In fact, Chris doesn’t hear anything at all, aside from his own tired, unsure feet against the cool tile floor.

Darren is sitting cross-legged on the kitchen island, hair a disaster and glasses balancing on the tip of his nose, and eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon. Chris makes an amused noise in the back of his throat, and the house is quiet enough that Darren actually hears him and turns, spoon sticking out of his mouth and eyebrows raised.

"What are you doing?" His voice is thick from disuse, and he clears his throat. Darren pulls the spoon from his mouth with a  _pop_  and grins at Chris in a sleepy and adoring way that makes Chris’s body hum with a pleasant, fuzzy warmth.

"I was hungry," he mumbles, sleepily, and then scoops out another dollop of peanut butter before pulling it off the metal with his lips. If the idea of eating straight peanut butter didn’t make Chris recoil just a little bit, it might even be a little erotic.

"So you’re eating peanut butter?" Chris shuffles forward, resisting the urge to shiver as the cold seeps into his bare feet. Darren’s eyes seem to brighten as he moves closer, a phenomenon that Chris has never understood.

"Peanut butter is awesome." Darren holds the jar out to Chris, wiggling it back and forth expectantly. Chris eyes it and frowns.

"Did you ever see that commercial? The one with the dog?" He looks away from the peanut butter. “Where the boy is feeding it peanut butter with a spoon and it just keeps trying to unstick its mouth for the entire commercial?" Chris looks back at the jar, pointedly.

"…are you comparing me to a dog?"

"Wouldn’t be the first time," Chris jibes, lightly, and Darren wrinkles his nose at him jeeringly.

"So you won’t eat peanut butter because you think you’ll be like that dog?" Darren digs his spoon back into the container.

"It’s too early for this," Chris mumbles, because he doesn’t want to admit that he does think that, a little bit. Not that Darren seems to be having any trouble. Darren lets the spoon hang from his mouth again, inching away on the island and then patting the granite beside him, eyebrows raised as he looks at Chris. Chris gives an exasperated sigh, because he wants to go back to bed, he wants  _Darren_  to go back to bed, but Darren seems a lot more alert than Chris certainly feels and it’s a battle he probably wouldn’t win if he started.

He resists the urge to curl up on the countertop and force his head onto Darren’s lap, folding himself beside Darren instead and then leaning into him, his body heavy.

Darren’s arm wraps around him automatically, and Chris closes his eyes, wondering if he could fall asleep like this. He’s tired enough, and Darren is warm and comfortable enough. It’s a definite possibility. Darren’s nose nuzzles against his hair, passing back and forth affectionately, before Darren kisses his temple.

He smells heavily of peanut butter, and it makes Chris smile.

"You smell like peanut butter," Chris mumbles, sleepily, nosing at Darren’s jaw, and he feels the vibrations of Darren’s silent laughter.

"I wonder why," Darren teases, and if Chris had more energy, he’d smack him. Maybe after some more sleep. And breakfast. He’s starting to feel hungry, just from being awake. Either his body makes some telling noise, or Darren is being scarily intuitive, but he shuffles their bodies around until he’s holding a spoonful of peanut butter close to Chris’s mouth.

"No."

"Do I need to make airplane noises?" Darren sounds pleased at the idea, and Chris wants to shove the peanut butter into his bed head. “Here comes the airpwane," he says, baby voice and all, and Chris shoves his lips together—hard—and ends up with peanut butter smeared across them. “You are so stubborn."

"Because I don’t want to eat straight peanut butter?" But Chris licks the residue from his lips. It makes him a little thirsty. After all, it’s not like he hates peanut butter or anything.

"Well, that, but just in general. You know." Darren’s shrug moves their entire tangled mass, limbs all knotted and wrapped around each other.

"I just want to go back to sleep." Chris pushes his cheek against the curve of Darren’s shoulder. “I want you to go back to sleep." Which is the closest Chris gets to saying, “come back to bed with me," when he’s already this conscious.

"Okay," Darren whispers, and kisses his forehead this time. “But you have to eat peanut butter first."

"Dare—"

"No, that is my stipulation."

It’s too early in the morning for words like  _stipulation_ , and for Darren to be this awake, and this is the part where Chris is supposed to slip from the counter and stalk back upstairs because  _fuck Darren_  and his randomly asserted power plays.

Chris promises himself that if he yields now, he’ll find some way to get back at Darren when he’s more coherent, and when the idea of cuddling doesn’t sound like the best thing in the world.

He isn’t sure when human contact went from something he occasionally liked but never really sought turned into, well,  _this_. But at the same time, he knows. He knows what the reason is. He’s leaning against it, about to eat peanut butter for it.

Reluctantly opening his eyes, Chris fishes for the spoon and the jar, digging out his own spoonful so that Darren doesn’t get the satisfaction of feeding it to him. It’s a lot, and it sticks to his mouth, and just keeps thinking,  _I wish I had chocolate to go with this_. But it’s not bad—it’s peanut butter, and peanut butter is  _good_ , and as much as he really needs a glass of water now, it wasn’t an overall horrible experience. He can’t imagine doing it the way Darren did, but Chris can’t imagine doing a lot of the things that Darren does.

"You conceded." Darren sounds shocked, and Chris sets the jar on the counter.

"Can we go back to bed now?" Although he wonders if he’ll even go back to sleep now. But even the idea of stretching his limbs out, of Darren warm all up one side and then around him, sounds worth it right in that moment.

"Mmm." Darren twists Chris’s chin up and towards him, his tongue darting out to lick at the corner of Chris’s mouth. “I love peanut butter."

"You love everything," Chris mumbles, Darren’s lips still awkwardly at the side of his mouth.

"I love  _you_." Darren turns his head to catch Chris in a kiss—just a quick press, although Chris wonders, briefly, if Darren tastes like peanut butter as much as he smells like it. He ends the first kiss with two other ones, and then he’s slipping away, leaving the peanut butter on the counter as he starts to lead Chris from the kitchen (and maybe it’s better that he doesn’t have a pet, after all).

Chris rushes forward a little bit, his limbs still heavy from not being used very much, until he’s pressed against Darren again. It makes walking really difficult.

"I love you, too," he finally whispers back, and Darren awkwardly kisses him again as they shuffle back upstairs and to bed.


End file.
